A Wretched Battle of Wills
by VictorianChik
Summary: When Robin is captured by Slade, the young hero must train under the twisted master and his henchmen in order to survive. But Robin will not be broken easily or without a fight. Warning: Dark fic and punishment, see warnings in first chapter.
1. Slade

AN: Okay, I started reading Robin and Slade fic a few nights ago, and while I enjoy a good rape and torture tale as much as the next woman (not really, it's a little too dark for me), I thought that the stories where Slade captures Robin and forces him to be his apprentice were missing a few good moments, such as discipline and other kinds of mind play. So, here is mine.

WARNING: Dark fic with lots of punishment and trickery and medical stuff in later chapter, but no rape.

----

The dungeon was cold and dark, smelling dank and earthy.

It made sense that Slade's fortress would have a dungeon even though it was in the middle of America with modern technology.

By Robin's calculations, he had been in there two days. He had watched the light moving and darkening over the high barred window.

The day before, one of Slade's henchmen had come down to give him food and water and ask if he was ready to talk. Robin said no, and the man left the food and water without a word.

Slade had caught him two days ago, a lucky punch that had sent Robin tumbling off the roof. He had caught himself on a side awning before dropping to the ground, but when he dropped dizzily, two of Slade's men were waiting for him. They had clapped electronic handcuffs around his wrists and thrown him in the back of a van.

Robin had tried to shake the cuffs off, but they gave him a sharp electric jolt every time he fiddled with them, so he finally let it alone and attempted to devise an escape plan.

He thought they would torture him. He thought they would inflict pain on him, all under Slade's supervision, until he revealed all the secrets he knew about everything: Teen Titans, Teen Tower, Batman, Superman – not a secret left.

But rather than inflict pain, they had put him down in the dungeon, still in his Robin suit and mask. A heavy iron shackle had been bolted around his ankle with an electronic lock that would alert the guard if tampered with. Robin had started rubbing one link of the huge iron chain against the stone wall the second the guard left.

By the next day, he had worn the link down enough to break it. But he was careful to keep the chain looking intact for when the henchmen came back.

Rather than open the cell door (also made of heavy iron), the man had opened up the door flap, inquiring, "Are you ready to talk?"

"No," Robin braced himself for a fight.

A bucket of water was shoved in along with a tin tray holding three pieces of bread. After eating the food, Robin separated the chain and explored the room. He easily climbed the stone wall up to the barred windows, but the bars were so thick and deeply embedded into the wall that he would have to take the whole wall apart.

The door had hinges, but they were on the opposite side of the wall so he couldn't hope to escape by pulling the hinges free. The flap at the bottom wasn't big enough for him to wiggle through even if he kicked it open.

He was trapped.

He sat on the dirt floor, staring at the wall and wondering if this time he was really finished. Maybe they planned to starve him out, wait until he went crazy down there with only himself to talk to, the hunger growing on the meager rations they fed him.

The first day, he wondered what Batman would have done. Would Batman have agreed to talk and, when they brought him out for questioning, unleashed a bout of power and rage to overcome them?

The second day, he wondered if he could contact Batman to come help him defeat Slade once and for all.

The third day, Robin was ready to beg Batman to come rescue him.

But he could not reach Batman from inside the cell. He couldn't even reach his own teammates. He wondered if they had survived without him. They had their own superpowers, but he was their leader, the one who reined in Starfire, and encouraged Raven, and joked with Cyborg, and mentored Beast Boy. They needed him.

Footsteps sounded down the stone steps. Robin made sure his chain looked unbreakable and he stood, waiting.

The locks were pulled back from the door, and the door opened outward slowly.

Two of Slade's goons waited in the hallway, one with black eyes and the other with gray hair.

"Arms out," Black Eyes commanded. "March forward. Any sudden movement and we'll shoot."

Robin put his arms out and came forward. He hoped he might be able to jump them before they could stop him, but Gray Hair held out the electronic handcuffs.

"Put these on and then we'll hand you the key to your shackle."

Robin tried to keep the cuffs loose enough to slip his hands out, but the cuffs beeped loudly until he locked them tight enough around his wrists. The key he got was just an electronic card that he held over the shackles. The electronic lock slid open, and Robin pulled his ankle free, finding the iron difficult to manipulate with his hands in the cuffs.

"Follow us," the guards demanded. Robin moved into place between them, and he felt the muzzle of a gun slide into the small of his back. He thought the gun was probably a stun gun, but he saw no reason to test his luck.

As they went up the stairs, the air grew warmer, a blessing after the frigid dungeons. Robin didn't realize how cold his fingers had been until they started tingling from the warmth.

The men took him up to a large room, probably some kind of family room, if demented men like Slade had family rooms. A fire blazed on one side, and Robin tensed for action, sure they were about to use the fire to torture him.

In the middle of the room, a triangular piece of furniture stood, looking out of place with the rest of the fancy décor. The piece was about three feet high, completely slanted on one side with a bar in the middle across the other side.

Black Eyes pushed Robin to stand with the front of his shoes against the slanted side.

"Lean against it," Gray Hair ordered.

Robin hesitated and he felt the muzzle of the gun push against him. This was why Batman didn't like guns – guns made everything more difficult. Without any choice left, Robin leaned against the slanted side.

Black Eyes immediately grabbed his cuffed hands and pulled them over to the other side, locking them down on the bar. Robin had to lean a little further over to keep his wrists from hurting and his feet on the ground. If worst came to worst, he could launch his feet around in a roundhouse kick.

Then they locked his ankles against the wood.

Robin fought down panic. He slightly rocked his weight back and forth, testing how much he could move the triangle. It was bolted to the ground.

"Hang tight," Gray Hair smirked.

Robin twisted his body as much as he could, and he caught sight of the men exiting the room and shutting the door behind them.

Robin thrust his weight against the triangle hard. It creaked against the floor bolts. He pushed harder, hoping he could start to break the wood apart. He was smaller than the men, but his training had taught him to use his body for maximum force, to be able to break concrete blocks with his arms, driving power and using his body as a fierce weapon.

"Ah, ah," a voice scolded behind him. "If you break my furniture, I will have to kill you."

"Slade," Robin growled under his breath. "What do you want with me?"

"What do I want? What do I want?" Slade mused.

"You'll never make me talk," Robin snarled.

"Oh, I'm sure I could get you to talk quite easily," Slade moved around in front of him, Slade's mask obscuring his face. "You may have trained your body to become a fighter, but you're still just a boy. A little pain in the right places, and you'll cry out your worst secrets."

Robin breathed deeply. He knew that his body was strong, but certain places were vulnerable: his eyes, his ears, his fingers, his privates, his knees. All places where Slade could attack him and destroy his resolve.

"What do you want to know?" Robin asked. "What do you want me to tell you?"

"What makes you think you have information I want?" Slade's voice had a smirk in it.

"Why else kidnap me? I have to have information you want."

"Oh, pish-posh. What do I care about your secrets? You trained under Batman, you left him to form the Teen Titans, you all live in Titan Tower, and the others have superpowers while you, my dear boy, have none."

That was a lot of information. Robin pulled against the restraints in order to distract himself. Despite his struggles, the cuffs held. Not even his trained body could break the metal.

"When you're quite done fighting, we will begin to have a civilized discussion," Slade's voice had a smirk in it.

"Fine, what do you want from me?" Robin snarled.

Slade picked up a remote and pushed a button. Robin lifted his head to watch one of the walls split in half and reveal a tall computer with multiple screens.

"Cyborg is better at machines than I am," Robin said before he could stop himself.

"On this computer," Slade pushed another button and the screens flared to life, "I have a contract saved. In a moment, I will print it out and you will sign it."

"Contract for what?"

"Your training with me."

Robin blinked for a moment at the sudden news and then he unleashed a bout of rage. "What! Train with you? We're enemies. I'm going to fight you and beat you and take you to prison. Now let me up so we can fight."

"So I take that as a no?" Slade asked.

"You got that right, metal-faced freak."

"That really is such a shame," Slade sighed. Setting the remote down, he went to a wooden stand and pressed a button there.

Robin sneered. That was really all Slade was good for – talking and pushing buttons.

Two goons came back in, Black Eyes and Gray Hair. One was holding a wide flat box, and the other had a pair of long scissors in his hand. Robin tried not to flinch as the scissors came near; he had a frightening thought that they might try to stab him with the scissors. But Gray Hair went behind him, and Robin felt the cold scissors slide down his neck and start to cut through his uniform.

Black Eyes gave the box to Slade and then stepped in front of Robin. As the scissors continued to clip through the uniform, Robin watched Black Eyes smile coldly and then reach down to remove his mask.

"No, don't!" Robin protested, but it was too late. Cool air washed over his face as the mask came off.

"He's really just a boy," Black Eyes commented as he handed Slade the mask.

"Indeed. Please assist in removing the rest of Robin's attire and then leave us."

In a humiliating few seconds, the goons cut through the rest of his clothes, and left Robin naked on the stand. They even took his boots, and he had to stand tiptoe on bare feet, extremely vulnerable.

The goons left, but Slade gathered up his torn clothes, shoes, and mask. Slade walked over to the wall and pulled on a handle. A chute opened up, and Slade tossed the items inside. A grinding noise started up, and then a plastic bag flopped out. Slade picked it up, and as he came closer, Robin could see his costume inside, chewed to confetti.

"Will you sign the contract?" Slade asked.

"Get bent," Robin told him.

Sighing in disappointment, Slade went to the stand where he had left the box. He opened it and removed a long, flat, wooden paddle.

"Tell me when you've changed your mind."

Slade walked behind him. A second later, the paddle swung down and struck Robin's bare bottom.

He grunted loudly, but refused to make a sound. He had been punished before in this barbaric way, but it had been a few years, and even then Batman hadn't used a paddle, preferring instead his own calloused hand against his ward's bottom. Robin had managed to block out those few punishments, and he had supposed at his age he was too old to be disciplined with corporal punishment.

The second swat took away any disbelief he had. And the pain blossomed, so deep and complete, that he whimpered slightly. Slade was a master at causing agony, but Robin reasoned that he would rather be hit on the ass with a paddle than cut with a knife or punched somewhere else. He had survived past punishments; he could survive this one.

Slade slapped the paddle down again, the noise cracking through the room. And then he paused.

"This could be so much more effective," he mused.

Frowning with pain, Robin lifted his head again to watch Slade go to the computer. He slid the paddle into a special slot and typed on the keyboard. A drilling noise filled the room, and when Slade pulled the paddle out, it had six perfectly round holes in the wood.

Robin swallowed hard. Holes cut in the paddle made it easier to swing, and faster swinging meant –

_Crack_!

Robin gasped at the torturous agony in his bottom. Oh, it hurt – hurt past the point of making any kind of logical decision or reasoning. Slade swung again, and then he started a rhythm on the boy's backside, slamming the paddle at a 4/4 beat count of a smack every second with a brief pause at the end of every four.

Robin dragged air into his starving lungs and bellowed out a long cry, followed by an anguished plead of "No, Slade, stop! Stop it, stop it, stop it! Oh, it hurts too much. Ow, I'm gonna – I gonna – gonna – ooooooooh! I'm gonna bruise and hurt forever. Please stop!"

"Hmm," Slade mercifully paused. "Perhaps you would like to reconsider your position on the contract?"

"I'm not signing anything," Robin tried to sound angry, but his voice was higher pitched than usual. He had the sinking feeling that it was all for nothing; he was Slade's prisoner, and after three days of capture, cold, and little food, he didn't have much of a chance to resist.

The second round of paddling was as sharp and brutal as the first, and when Slade finally paused, Robin, choked by tears, tried to scramble together something coherent to say after all his nonverbal screaming.

"We can keep doing this for hours," Slade remarked. "And even after my arm gets tired, I have dozens of hired men who would be glad to lend their arms in order to help you come to your senses. And even after they tired, I have a number of females who would line up to assist in chastising such a naughty boy. That would put us somewhere into late afternoon . . . tomorrow. Must you be so stubborn?"

"My friends will come rescue me," Robin sniffed. "And if they don't, Batman –"

"Ah, yes, Batman," Slade pretended to consider this threat. "Could Batman lay siege to my fortress? I will not be arrogant and boast of my villainous power, and I will admit that should Batman try to break into my fortress he would eventually succeed. But will there be anything to save by then? What will be left of his little Robin?"

Blinking away tears, Robin tried to focus. He knew he couldn't win as long as he was shackled to the triangle stand with Slade beating him ruthlessly. Even with a contract, Robin knew he could try to escape.

"Okay, I'll sign the contract," he gulped. "What does it say?"

"That you'll be my apprentice for a year."

"A year? A year! No, not a year. A week."

Slade chuckled deeply. "You are hardly in a position to argue, but I'll play along. Eight months."

"Two weeks," Robin blinked quickly to clear away the tears. His bottom ached and thrummed, and he would have given almost anything to reach back and rub.

"Six months."

"One month."

"Three. Three months in my servitude and care."

"All right," Robin nodded, trying not to tremble.

He watched Slade walk back to the computer. The villain typed in a few words, and then the computer printed out a sheet. Slapping the sheet to a clipboard, Slade walked over to the naked boy and unlocked his right wrist from the cuffs and forced a pen into his hand.

Robin ran his eyes over the contract.

_I, Robin, do resign myself to Slade for the duration of three months, from January 12__th__ to April 12__th__. I give my mind, body, and soul to his authority and guidance, understanding that I will belong to him completely during this time. All decisions will be left to him, and I pledge my obedience entirely_.

There was a line underneath for him to sign.


	2. The Nurses

It was a horrible contract, and Robin knew most of the terms were relative, able to be interpreted into anything Slade wanted, good or evil. Still, Robin knew he had to get up off the triangle. And he was pretty sure all the Teen Titans and even Batman would agree he had been forced into signing the contract.

His hand shook, but he signed _Robin_ on the line.

"And your other name," Slade prompted.

Robin hesitated. What would happen if he signed his real name? Could they trace it back to Batman? Slade knew who he was, but signing his name on paper made it real, a concrete piece of evidence that –

Slade reached back to slap him firmly on the bottom.

Robin dropped the pen and reached back with his free hand to cover what he could of his steaming bottom. It was hot to the touch and he could hardly bear to put his hand on it.

"Sign or I'll take the paddle to the back of your thighs," Slade threatened. "Then we'll see how long you can hold out."

Robin took the pen again and signed _Richard Grayson_ next to _Robin_. He let out a muffled sob at the impact of what he had done, but before he could think about it too much, Slade caught his wrist and locked it down in the cuffs.

"Now you'll pay for your hesitation," Slade said. He took the paddle and gave the boy ten solid whacks across the back of his thighs.

Robin howled, trying to kick his legs but found the ankle restraints wouldn't allow him to do much more than squirm.

"Let that be a lesson to you," Slade finally put the paddle down. "It's a shame we had to start out on such a bad foot. We could have begun three days ago had you not been such a stubborn boy."

Slade unlocked the cuffs from the metal bar and released Robin's ankles. Robin stood shakily as if he had been locked down to the triangle for hours. He hated being naked, but the cuffs were wide and thick enough to hide most of his front privates. However, his red bottom and thighs were there for anyone to see, though only Slade was in the room.

"Am I getting any clothes?" he asked.

"You'll only speak when spoken to," Slade instructed. "I have no interest in your opinion outside of my command. And your thoughts are of little concern to me."

"But –" Robin tried to object, but Slade clamped a heavy, gloved hand on the back of his neck and marched him towards the door. The mere act of walking hurt, what with having such a sore bottom and tired limbs.

The floor felt cold and hard to his bare feet, and Robin wasn't sure what to do. He had never been forced to walk anywhere naked, but he couldn't tell what Slade meant to do. Surely Slade wouldn't do anything . . . inappropriate. Robin felt his face heat and prickle at the thought. He was still underage, sixteen – almost seventeen. Was Slade that evil?

"Ah, here are two of your caretakers," Slade pointed up ahead.

Robin jerked to a stop. Up ahead, two nurses were walking down the hallway. They both wore white uniforms, skirts that dropped to mid-calf, white hose, and white nursing shoes. They both had blond hair tucked back in a bun and white nurse hats pinned on the top of their heads. They weren't twins, but Robin couldn't tell them apart.

Of course, he panicked slightly at being naked in front of two women, yet he couldn't turn to run because they would see his backside and would know at once that he had been spanked. He pulled against the cuffs though they didn't budge, and unknowingly stepped back towards Slade for protection.

"Here you go, nurses," Slade pushed Robin towards them. "One young Robin for your care. I will be by later to give him a thorough check-up."

Robin kept his hands down as the nurse came by his side. He wanted to crouch down to cover himself, but they herded him along, faces blank and steps brisk. They were both taller than him, slim women but with strong arms and firm hands. Robin glanced at each of them and then kept his gaze on the floor. Villains and arch-enemies were one thing, but no-nonsense women (and nurses in particular) made Robin very, very nervous.

They went into a room that had white walls and wooden floors with a blazing fire under a high mantle. Several chains hung from the ceiling, and there were objects in the room that could have been medical apparatuses or torture devices. Before Robin could look around further, the nurses hustled him over to one side and into a large bathtub filled with foaming hot water. One nurse held up his cuffed hand while the other unlocked it. But before Robin could relax, the nurses grabbed his wrists and locked them each on a hanging chain.

Robin wondered if he were dreaming. He was sitting naked in water up to his chest with his wrists chained high enough for them to be out of the way. And when the nurses began grabbing various wash cloths and scrubbing brushes and soap and bottles, Robin felt sure he must be dreaming. As the nurses came near, Robin looked closely at their faces. One had a slightly more angular face; Robin immediately thought of Nurse Ratchet from _One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest_, a book Batman had thought he was barely old enough to read, but needing to read in order to understand psychotic natures. The other nurse had a slightly rounded face, and Robin mentally named her Nurse Wilkes, from _Misery_, a movie Robin had sneaked by to watch.

"Wake up, wake up," he whispered. But the water felt real, and while Nurse Ratchet began sudsing down his neck and back, Nurse Wilkes started on his legs. They said nothing while they worked, though Robin couldn't help making small noises.

"Ah, stop! Let me go. Slade is evil! I don't need a bath. Gak!" he sputtered as a bucket of water splashed down on his face.

Nurse Ratchet started scrubbing his chest while Nurse Wilkes began soaping his hair. Robin didn't know what to think or what to do so he scrunched his eyes shut and hoped it would be over soon. They weren't cruel, but very dedicated to their task and quite thorough. It was awful when they washed his groin area, but they also reached down with the long brushes to scrub his sore bottom.

"Stop!" Robin tried to kick out one of his legs in attempt to splash them.

The nurses looked at each other, but neither spoke. Nurse Ratchet went to the wall and began winding a crank. The chains tightened, and Robin felt himself lifting up into the air by his wrists. As he rose out of the water, Nurse Wilkes turned on a spray hose and began rinsing off his soapy body.

Then he was stood in the middle of the room, arms still chained while the nurses rubbed him dry with towels.

"I can do it," Robin protested though he knew it would do no good. Had he been alone, the warm bath would have felt nice and the soft towels, too, but Robin did not appreciate being handled in such a personal way, subjected to being pushed and prodded and controlled with such capability.

They wrapped him in a big white towel and finally unlocked his wrists before taking him over to a padded table. Robin had to stretch out face down on the table, and when the nurses took away the towel, he gave a sharp huff.

"You could allow me some clothes or underwear at least," he sighed. "I get that Slade is all about humiliation, but I don't understand why he has two nurses on staff and hospital stuff instead of torture things. I won't be able to sit for days, but he doesn't _– what are you doing_?"

Nurse Ratchet had slid a thick glass thermometer in between his bottom cheeks and held it there while Nurse Wilkes set to drying his hair with a towel.

"Ah!" Robin buried his face in the table. "Just go ahead and kill me. I can't take much more of this. Do either of you talk at all? Can you talk? Please, just say something. Tell me what Slade plans to do with me."

They still said nothing. The longer they stayed quiet, the eerier it became. After a long time, they finally removed the thermometer, and Robin squirmed a little. Without warning, he was flipped over to his back, and he let out a long groan as his sore bottom hit the padded table. He thought about reaching down to cover himself, but the nurses each took one of his legs, tilting them up so they could slide a rectangular cloth underneath him.

A horrible moment later, Robin realized he was being pinned into a diaper. As soon as he heard the safety pins click shut, he launched off the bed and hauled ass as fast as he could towards the door. It wouldn't open, despite how hard he tugged and pounded.

Robin wanted to rip the cloth off him, but he didn't want to be naked again. The nurses waited at the padded table, their eyes calm but intense, and then one pulled out what looked like a hospital gown.

"Why do I have to wear that?" he demanded. "I'm not sick. And if you think you're going to experiment on me, you are mistaken. I'm not going under surgery just so you can hack me up in pieces. I signed that contract, but the stipulation was that I would be alive at the end. And I'm still running the first chance I get."

The nurses just waited.

Robin bit his lip, debating. Awful clothes were better than no clothes, and he could pretend for now that the diaper was a loin cloth like Tarzan wore. He couldn't very well escape completely naked, and there was always a chance later that he might be able to steal some real clothes. He dragged his feet back to the table and reluctantly let the nurses put him in the gown and tie up the strings in the back.

They had just finished when the door swung open and a doctor in a lab coat walked in. A moment later, Robin realized that it was Slade. The villain still had his mask on, but rather than his metal-plated uniform, he wore black pants and a white shirt with the lab coat over it, a black stethoscope around his neck. Nurse Wilkes handed him a pair of plastic gloves, and Slade pulled them on with a snap.

Robin edged away, but Slade commanded, "Up on the table. I must examine you before they put you to bed."

Instinctively, Robin hoisted himself up on the table though his bottom hurt. He didn't know why, but he felt compelled to listen to a doctor. He reminded himself that it was just a costume, but he had always had trouble differentiating people and their outfits. Batman had lectured him endlessly about the costumes not making the man, but Robin had always found it comforting to see the costume and then the person. He liked it best when Batman wore the suit, and he had trouble when Batman took off the suit and became a dark-haired billionaire rather than the feared Dark Knight.

Robin himself had taken to wearing his costume at all times with his mask. He wanted people to see him as Robin rather than Dick Grayson. Dick Grayson was a sad boy who had lost his parents and been taken in by a wealthy man; Robin fought crime and had control over his life and his destiny.

But Slade wearing a doctor's coat – Robin had trouble thinking of him as his arch-nemesis, especially when Slade took off the stethoscope, put the knobs in his ears against his mask, and pressed the cold metal end against Robin's chest. "Deep breaths," Slade instructed.

Robin felt his skin get all goose-pimply as Slade moved the stethoscope around, listening intently to his heart. Since about age 11, Robin had felt . . . odd about going to the doctor's. He hadn't dared say a word of it to Batman, but every time he had to go for a check-up, he felt a weird thrill when the doctor gave him the physical. It was intimate in a way that no one else ever was with him. Batman trained him, but Batman was cold and withdrawn, rarely touching him except when they were doing hand-to-hand combat.

Robin often wished someone would touch him more. Not in a bad way, but casual and innocent. He liked it when his hair was tousled or his shoulder squeezed. He liked Starfire's hugs (though he had to pretend like he didn't), and he liked it when Beast Boy got excited to see him and tackled him with a gigantic hug.

And now his worst enemy was listening to his heartbeat, steadying Robin with a hand on the shoulder while moving the round metal disc to his back to listen to his breathing. Robin wasn't sure what to think, and he was worried that he might like it more than he should. But those thoughts were scary, and he pushed them to the back of his mind and tried to concentrate on how much he hated Slade.

Next, Slade took out an otoscope and popped a plastic top on the tip before taking hold of Robin's left ear and pressing it into his ear.

"Mmm," Slade said in a deep voice. "A bit of fluid. Some medicine will be in order tonight. Turn so I can reach the other one."

Robin turned obediently, not understanding what he was feeling. He hated Slade; he was trapped by Slade; Slade had beaten him and forced him to sign that contract. He couldn't like what Slade was doing to him, could he? No, no, no! Slade was evil, and he would try to destroy good in any way he could and –

"Mouth open," Slade took a tongue depressor and pressed it down on Robin's tongue as he shone the otoscope light in his throat.

"Aaahhh," Robin said out of habit.

Slade chuckled. "So eager to please. Well, nurses, he seems to be fighting off a slight cold. Did he have a temperature?"

They both nodded, and Slade tsked in disapproval. "Then I shall compose a nice long list of medicines, all taken by mouth, of course. Vitamins, and immune strengtheners, and cod liver oil, and black root herb, and also castor oil if his tummy hurts. I want my new apprentice healthy and well rested for his training."

Before Robin could object, Slade stepped back and motioned to the nurses. "Off to bed he goes. Dose him well and be sure to use the restraints. I'll be in shortly to tell him good night."

Once the "doctor" had left, the nurses took his hands firmly and led him, side-by-side, out the door and down a dark hallway. Robin's bare feet scuffed gently against the floor, but he kept up with their hurried pace. They took him into a square room that was slightly cool, and once they let go of his hands, Robin wrapped his arms around his chest to keep himself warm. The room had a bed and a chair along with a rolling cart, but along one wall, a huge computer was built into the wall.

Nurse Ratchet began typing information into the computer while Nurse Wilkes pulled back the covers and gestured for Robin to get in the bed. He went along, figuring that at some point they might leave him alone for the night and he could try to escape then. The bed felt very soft and had about five pillows piled up so that he was sitting up against them. The covers were cold as Nurse Wilkes put them over his bare legs but when Nurse Ratchet typed something into the computer, the bed began to heat up, both from the mattress and the top blanket.

Slade knew how to treat his prisoners, Robin thought very grumpily. Even his room at Wayne Manor hadn't had a heating bed, and Batman had discouraged small comforts as much as possible, wanting his sidekick to be lean and tough.

Before he could really enjoy the bed, the two nurses came to opposite sides, snatched up his wrists, and tied restraints around them, the brown leather and metal kinds used in insane asylums.

"Bitches!" Robin snarled. He wouldn't have normally used a word like that, but the suddenness of their attack surprised him, and when one brought over a tray full of bottles with one very big spoon, Robin yanked hard against the restraints.

"No, I'm not taking that. Slade could try to poison me. Let me up! I want to go back to the dungeon, like a real prisoner. I'm a serious threat to him, not some patient that he can give to the care of two nurses. When Batman hears about this and the rest of the Teen Titans –"

Nurse Ratchet calmly put the tray on the rolling cart. She pulled open the top tray of the cart and took out a long glass syringe with a needle four inches long. Robin's eyes widened in fear, but she turned to him, obviously pointing out that he could choose between swallowing the medicine and having her inject it into him.

"I'll swallow it," Robin agreed. He made a face at the full spoon of thick, dark medicine that came close, but he obligingly opened his mouth and let the nurse insert the spoon. It was quite horrid – bitter and yucky – but he gulped it down, trying not to think of the goo going down his throat. Nurse Ratchet was waiting with a second spoonful, and he took that one as well.

The medicines got more disgusting with each one, but around dose four, Robin's mouth was coated with so much gross taste that he reasoned if he couldn't taste them each individually, then he stood a good chance of getting to the end of the medicines without hurling. Of course, he didn't really have anything in his stomach to hurl, but he didn't like the idea of gagging repeatedly.

When the last dose went down, Robin asked, trying not to move his teeth or mouth for fear of tasting too much, "Tan I haf sum wa'er?"

Nurse Wilkes brought out a plastic bag of what looked like creamy-colored pudding though Robin had his doubts about the content. The bag narrowed at the top, and the nurse put a plastic ring on the bag, followed by what looked like a baby bottle's top.

"Seriously?" Robin exploded. "You want me to drink from a _baby's bottle_? I'm sixteen, not sixteen months, and I won't drink it, and I'd rather starve."

Both nurses looked back at the syringes.

"Ugh," Robin snarled. "Fine, give it to me, but I won't forget this. When I take Slade down, you're going down, too."

Without ceremony, the bottle nipple was stuffed in his mouth and he reluctantly sucked on it and swallowed his first mouthful. The stuff tasted nasty at first, but that was from the lingering medicine taste. The more he swallowed, the better the stuff in the bag tasted. It had the consistency of cream of wheat or soft oatmeal, but it was chilled and had a slight vanilla flavor. And rather than a tiny hole like most baby bottles had, this nipple had two deep gashes forming an X on the top so he could gulp it down quite quickly.

As he was swallowing it down, so glad to get nourishing food at last, he didn't realize that his eyes had drifted shut until he heard boots stomping on the floor. Jerking his eyes open, Robin saw Slade enter the room, now dressed in a black business suit, though still wearing the mask.

Robin attempted to pull back from the bottle that Nurse Wilkes still held, but Slade shook his head.

"No, no, keep drinking. You'll need your strength for tomorrow. You are going to have very busy days from now on."

Robin wanted to retort _"Only for three months, and how are you going to commit any crimes if you're keeping me busy?"_ But he settled for glaring at Slade while finishing the last of the nutritious drink. His eyelids were getting very, very heavy, and though he fought to keep awake and alert, Robin found himself easing back on the pillows in complete relaxation. Nurse Ratchet started removing the pillows from behind him, slowly lowering him until just one pillow remained under his head.

"That's right – drift off to sleep," Slade came close to the bed. "You took a special medicine of mine, one to deliver powerful dreams, almost psychotic. But don't worry – I'll be here in the morning light, here to make sure your dreams pale in comparison to what I have planned. Here you lie, helpless, completely child-like and vulnerable. I could cut your throat, and you'd be able to do nothing. Sleep knowing my power . . . sleep, little boy."

Robin made no response, his eyes shut, though he sucked two last times on the bottle top to take in the very last of the thick drink. As the nurse took the bottle away, Slade tightened the restraints and then pulled the covers up over the sleeping boy, smoothing them over his shoulders and smiling at Robin's deep breathing.

"Well done, ladies," Slade stood up and extended a hand to the nurses. "Suppose we leave our boy to a full night's sleep. You've both done well with him, quite the capable caretakers of such a stubborn boy."

The nurses slid up to Slade, one on each side, and he put an arm around them, tugging them close. They smirked at him as they nuzzled into his shoulder. He even reached down to slap Nurse Ratchet on her slender ass. She smiled coyly and squeezed his fingers around her waist.

The three of them left the room, pausing only to turn the lights off on one exhausted, slumbering superhero.


	3. Training Body

Thanks to Fawkes Song for betaing.

--

The tunnel was long and dark, with light shining at the end of it. Robin started on a desperate run towards the end of it. He felt like his body was moving in slow motion, and he couldn't get himself to go any faster, but the light stayed ahead of him, biding him to come forward. He got three steps more before his legs refused to go on, stuck to the pavement like they were nailed there.

Then he wasn't in a tunnel anymore, but a vast field full of flowers. Starfire was there, humming to herself as she picked flowers and added them to a pile.

Robin tried to shout at her, but his voice no longer worked.

"Lavender's blue, dilly dilly. Rosemary's green," Starfire sang, her long red hair swaying around her shoulders. "When you are king, dilly dilly, I will be queen."

Robin opened his mouth to yell at her, but he found that his lips were sewn shut. Lifting a hand to his mouth, he felt the flat skin there and realized that he had never had a mouth.

He tried to reach for her, to show her that he couldn't speak, but she kept picking up the yellow flowers and putting them in a pile, singing softly. Desperately, he lunged forward, but he fell to the grass below, his hands falling into the pile of flowers. Instantly, the flowers turned into a pile of severed fingers.

"Oh," Starfire stared down at the pile, her tone regretful, "Look what you did. You turned it into death, ugly death. My sweet flowers destroyed by you."

Robin tried to speak, but when he blinked, he stood in a dark alley, enclosed with graffiti-sprayed walls and beaten trash cans.

"Robin."

Hearing his name, Robin turned to see a figure approaching him. It was Slade. Slade, taking slow steps towards him, Slade stalking him, Slade holding a gun in his hand.

Robin looked around for some way of escape or a weapon he could use, but he found that he had been frozen like stone. Slade lifted up his free hand and he tore off his mask, revealing the mask of Batman.

Batman looked out under his cowl, his stern mouth grim as he surveyed his adopted son. "Such a disappointment."

Robin watched in terror as Batman raised the gun up, straight at his son's face, and slowly squeezed the trigger –

Robin opened his eyes, his heart thudding hard in his chest. For a moment, he had to force himself to gulp in air before he tried to move. He found himself secured to the bed, leather cuffs around his wrists and warm covers tucked up to his shoulders.

As he calmed down, the memories of the previous few days returned, and he struggled to slide down in the bed and twist around to put his mouth over the right shackle, using his teeth to pull the straps loose. Most people would have found the task impossible, but Robin had been trained to escape such circumstances. (Though it did bring bad unpleasant memories from the weekend where Batman had strapped him in a straitjacket and hung him by his ankles and told him to get free, and then proceeded to put him in one confined situation after another to practice his escape routines.)

The strap finally loosened and he managed to slip his right hand out of the cuff. Seven seconds later, he sprang from the bed and began searching the room for some kind of escape. The main door was locked tight, not surprisingly. He felt confident he could break through it if he had to, but he did not want to alert his captors to the fact that he was already awake. The side door led to a small bathroom with just a sink and toilet, both steel metal like in prison.

Both rooms had high windows over them with bars set seven inches apart. The air vents were standard size like in most houses, barely big enough for a cat to crawl through. The best way of escape would be through the door and he'd have to take his chance in the hall. He didn't want to mess with the computer in the wall, figuring he could fiddle with that once he got free and came back with all the Teen Titans to bust Slade's headquarters up.

But while he was in the bathroom, Robin decided to go ahead and use the toilet, a pressing need after all the liquid from the night before. He slipped off the pinned cloth with disgust, humiliated that he had to wear it in the first place. He had expected Slade to give him torture and mind-games, not treat him like a baby.

Robin was back in the bedroom, making plans to break down the door when it swung open and both nurses came back in, Ratchet holding folded clothes and Wilkes holding a gun-like apparatus made of glass and iron. Robin stepped back, ready to attack, but Ratchet held out the clothes, indicating that he should put them on. Knowing he could not escape in just a hospital gown, Robin nodded his agreement and he turned to let Ratchet untie the back strings that held the gown closed.

He hated being naked in front of them, but he quickly pulled on the underwear which were really snug cotton shorts before grabbing the black martial pants and sleeveless crimson shirt. No sock or shoes were provided, and Robin guessed that his training would be done barefoot.

Once he dressed, the nurses had him sit on his bed and Nurse Wilkes put her gun down so she could feel Robin's forehead and peer into his eyes for any sign of fever.

"I'm fine," Robin pushed her hand away. "The medicine worked and I don't feel sick. I'm hungry and a little thirsty, but not sick. You use that thermometer again, and I'll break it in half."

Neither nurse said anything, but Robin felt certain they could, if they wanted to. That was a tactic he had learned over the years: silence could often intimidate more than threats or yelling. He knew they were both trying to scare him into obedience, but he had a hard time fighting against the urge to just go along with whatever they wanted. Their crisp white uniforms and expressionless faces made him feel vulnerable, not to mention the fact that they were attractive with their long legs and blond hair.

They had him lay back on the bed and began feeling up and down his limbs for signs of injury, bruises, or sprains. Robin winced when they hit a tender spot on his leg, a bruise that had not fully healed yet, but he jerked when they pressed on his stomach.

"No, come on! I'm ticklish there," he crossed his arms over the area where he still had just enough baby fat to make it sensitive. "I get hit there some, but most people don't poke me around the stomach like a Tickle Me Elmo doll. I'm fine – I'm ready to train with Slade."

They persisted in checking for any present injuries and inputting them into the wall computer. Then he was taken to another room, Nurse Wilkes holding the gun to his back so he wouldn't try to run.

Breakfast consisted of sitting at a plain table and being given a plateful of lumpy globs of steaming food which turned out to be bland oatmeal.

"What is with Slade and tasteless food?" Robin demanded from the two nurses.

Nurse Ratchet took up a large wooden spoon and tapped it against her palm, clearly telling him to clean his plate or risk the wrath of the spoon.

Picking up a small metal spoon, Robin dug into the food, figuring that he better eat his share of breakfast for the training coming. That's what he remembered from his days training with Batman – eat when you could because who knew when you might get food again. The oatmeal was very thick, and even with a glass of water, Robin wished they would put some milk or brown sugar in the food. He forced himself to eat in a pattern of a spoonful of oatmeal, chew, swallow, sip of water, then spoonful of oatmeal, chew, over and over again.

Two thirds of the way through, he lowered his spoon. "I'm full."

Nurse Ratchet tapped her spoon again.

"Do you think Slade's going to be happy if I puke in the training room?" Robin asked, but she still had the stern warning look on her face.

He managed to eat the rest of the oatmeal, one nasty spoonful at a time.

They finally let him up and he was taken to another room (honestly, how big was this place?) and put into a chair that vaguely reminded Robin of a dentist chair. Once he got in it, it lowered back, and Nurse Wilkes eased a helmet-like contraption down on his head.

A visor closed over his face, and a blank screen came up as Slade's voice came through the helmet sides.

"Welcome to your first day of training, Robin. This greeting will last fifteen minutes, enough time for your food to settle. Then you will commence to the training room. By the time I am finished reprogramming your mind and body, you will be the greatest supervillain the world has ever seen. You have a capacity for great good – I will turn that into hunger for great evil. You have agreed to this. You signed a contract. You belong to me."

"Great," Robin commented as Slade's voice paused. "Brain-washing. How very non-progressive of you. Now you're going to show me the great evil a villain can cause and how it's the best thing ever."

Instead, the screen showed a picture of himself, in costume, mask over his face. Robin watched as he began fighting villains, the screen him whirling, kicking, punching, and lashing out at various enemies. It was creepy to think of someone watching him all this time and videoing him, but every so often the camera would freeze, usually after he had delivered some vicious attack. The still shot caught him smiling, grinning, smirking over his fallen enemy. He performed some feat of incredible violence and then he was caught in an expression of satisfaction at what he had done.

"Hey!" Robin protested. "It was him or me most times. I'm not smiling because I like hurting other people. It just has to be done."

"Yes," Slade's voice purred in his ears. "But why you? Why should you get to decide who gets punished and who walks free. What makes you the moral compass?"

"Good people have to stand up against evil," Robin replied.

"And who lets evil happen in the first place? Common everyday people who walk by wrong all the time, refusing to get involved. Criminals get released every day when they should go to prison; murderers get put in prison for horrendous crimes because no one will take a stand against them."

"Yeah, I'd be glad to argue the death penalty with you all day," Robin said. "I took debate in middle school."

"And why aren't you in school?" Slade asked. "You think at sixteen you have learned everything you will need for the rest of your life?"

"No, I still study. I have lessons online and Batm – other people check over my progress. I'm learning more and more each day."

"And at sixteen, you know enough to act as an adult, out on your own, making your own decisions?"

"In the Middle Ages, people got married at fourteen."

"And died in their thirties."

"In Jewish tradition, you're considered a man at thirteen."

"Are you Jewish?"

"I act like a man. I take responsibility for my own actions and I fight well. I'm the leader of my team and we defend good."

"Whatever excuse you all need to go around beating others up. Some children vandalize neighborhoods – you hurt people that you deem bad."

"Bad people do bad things to good people."

"And good people do bad things to bad people. The action is the same."

"But the intent is different."

Slade made no comment, but the video started up again. After ten more minutes of watching himself grin like mad over every villain he clobbered, Robin came to the conclusion that not only did he not want to see himself after a fight again, but that he also didn't want to see himself on film again. His hair looked goofy sometimes, all sticking up in angles for absolutely no reason and the dinky mask that he worked so hard to fashion barely hid any of his face. No wonder Batman looked so askance when Robin designed it.

Finally the sequence ended, and the visor came up and Robin was led to a large circular room with wooden floors and a high, arching ceiling. On one side was a container as big as a dumpster filled with large rocks.

"Here we begin," Slade's face appeared on one side of the wall. "Basic training. Move all those rocks to the other side of the room and build a wall five feet high and one stone deep. You have an hour."

"Child's play," Robin muttered as he looked over the rocks, deciding which needed to go on the bottom to support the wall. He could use the regular wall to support the rocks, but for them to be built up five feet, he would have to plan carefully.

As always, the rocks got heavier the more he carried. The first hundred warmed his muscles up, but the second hundred started to wear on him. He was sweating and panting slightly as the hour drew to a close, maneuvering the last fifty rocks to the right location in order to finish off the wall. As he looked down at his bare arms, he could see the muscles hardening, tight beneath his skin.

"There," he stepped back to observe his wall. It wasn't quite even at the top, but it was straight enough to run the length of eight feet, the biggest rocks at the edges to keep the rocks from spilling out.

"Pathetic," Slade's face appeared on the wall again. "A child of four could have done better."

"Yeah? Well, a child of four couldn't lift these unless it was Bane's kid," Robin answered back. "What else do you want me to do?"

"Put the stones back in the container."

Robin rolled his eyes. "Figured that was coming."

"You expected me to be cruel?"

"No, I trained with Batman. I'm used to be given an extremely trying chore only to undo it right after," Robin reached for the top stone to lug it back.

Replacing the stones was done much faster than putting them in the wall, but Robin's arm muscles ached with each one he picked up and his back started burning as he bent to lift the heavier ones.

"There," he wheezed forty minutes later. "All in."

"Good," Slade said from the wall. "Now build a wall six feet tall and two stones deep."

"You've got to be kidding," Robin leaned over and grabbed his knees, stretching out his sore back.

An electric spark hit him in the feet, and he jumped up with a yelp. The floor must have a current in it that Slade could electrocute at any time.

"Okay, okay," Robin nodded. "Another wall coming up."

Two hours later, the wall had been built and then put away again, and Robin's upper-body hurt so bad he could barely stand.

"Now," Slade suddenly stepped in the room, in the flesh rather than on a screen, "you've been properly warmed up. We'll start to train you now."

"We?" Robin panted.

The two goons from the night before, Gray Hair and Black Eyes, came into the room, each holding a long stick.

Robin looked at Slade, hating that the villain got to wear a mask. "You know, if you kill me, you can't turn me into a villain."

"Don't fret, my boy," Slade's voice had a smile in it. "You'll be surprised at what you can endure and continue to live."

Both goons came at him.

-----

Robin stared at the floor, the lines of the wood blurring before his eyes. Gray Hair had hit him, and while he was trying to regain his balance, Black Eyes had shoved him to the floor. Robin knew he should pull himself back up, but he didn't have the strength.

"You've lasted nearly five hours at this," Slade took out a watch. "And with the stone warm-up – nine hours so far. Quite impressive for a boy, but pathetic for a villain. You lie there, helpless and weak. We could kill you right now."

Robin put his trembling hands on the floor and pushed himself up a few inches.

Black Eyes came over and slammed a foot on his back, crushing Robin to the floor again. Robin tried to fight to rise up, but it was no use. The three of them had been at him all day, making him jump over swinging sticks and ducking punches and fending off attacks that kept going and going. He was exhausted, utterly drained, and other than water, he had consumed nothing since breakfast. He wanted food and bed to curl up in, but he couldn't even get up off the floor.

Even Batman had never been that ruthless.

"Get him up," Slade ordered. "Bring him to the dinner table."

Even though he was soaked with sweat, the goons lifted Robin up and hustled him towards the doors. Robin didn't understand how his legs were still moving, but he couldn't feel much of his body anymore. The goon took him down a hallway and then into a large room with a huge window that overlooked the surrounding forest.

A formal dinner table was set with china, silverware, and crystal goblets, places set for seven. The goons slammed Robin into the chair at the left of the head of the table, and Robin slumped in his chair and stared listlessly ahead.

The goons sat across from him, and then the two nurses came in to sit as well, followed by a strict-looking woman in a business suit. And then Slade came into the room and sat at the head of the table, completing the party.

It was too bizarre, Robin thought as he watched a fat cook bring food in, that Slade should sit with his people and have dinner. But, Robin reasoned, everyone had to eat at some point, be they supervillain, goon, or evil nurse.

And then he forgot everything else as the food mounted up on the table: roast beef, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, chicken legs, rolls, and glazed carrots. Robin watched the food being passed down the table and served, and he decided right then and there that if he wasn't given some, he would kill Slade with the dinner knife.

But Slade actually served him, piling up food on his plate as Robin's mouth ached with hunger. Tentatively, Robin reached a hand out for it, but Slade shook his head.

"Fork," he reproved.

Robin wanted to plant his face in the food, but he took his fork up. His fingers were shaking from exhaustion so hard that he could barely lift the food up to his mouth. The first forkful slipped off, dropping back to the plate, and on the second try, his fingers fumbled, and the fork fell from his hand.

It clattered to the floor and he blinked in surprise. He looked down at it, knowing he had to bend down to get it, but that seemed like too big an effort. He leaned to the side, wondering if his arm was long enough to reach. His fingers grazed the fork, and then he leaned further – pain shooting up his side – and he could grab the fork if his fingers would work, but –

His chair jerked back, and Robin was pulled up out of his chair. Before he could defend himself, he found himself hanging over Slade's knee, the man putting one foot up on Robin's chair so he could position the boy and balancing him with one arm while using the other to draw back and land a stinging slap on Robin's bottom.

Robin was too tired to even yell. He groaned between his teeth, wishing he could squirm away.

"Manners are important for a supervillain," Slade said as he kept spanking. "You will use a fork correctly. You will also use a knife and spoon with a napkin in your lap and sit up properly. Bad manners will result in no dinner. Do you want dinner?"

"Yes," Robin managed.

"Then see to it that you have manners or you'll spend the whole evening watching us eat," Slade continued to pummel his bottom.

Robin felt tears creep into his eyes, but they were more from exhaustion than pain. He couldn't believe he was being spanked while five other adults watched on silently, but he cared more about getting food than he cared about his humiliation.

When Slade sat him back in the chair, Robin gave another deep groan, but Slade shook a finger in his face.

"There will be absolutely no groaning or moaning or unseemly noise at the table. You have one more chance before I send you to bed without supper."

The cook had brought out a new fork, and Slade handed it to Robin.

Robin reached out and took it, using all the strength he had to sit up straight and control his hand enough to eat correctly. His muscles hurt, his bottom hurt, his stomach hurt, and his eyes hurt, but he got a forkful of beef and brought it up to his mouth. It was all he could do not to groan in pleasure at the taste of food, but he kept silent and chewed quietly.

Slade stood over him for a moment before taking his own seat and resuming dinner.

Robin kept eating, ignoring the tears that welled up in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. It was unnerving when this happened to him – after bearing strife, pain, and torment, he could be stoic, but the moment he felt any kind of pleasure or happiness after pain, tears always came. Batman had hated that emotion and had lectured Robin about remaining stoic at all times, but Robin could withstand cruelty but never relief.

"What a mess," Slade commented after a few minutes. "Put down your fork. Look at me."

Robin did so, only to find Slade wiping his face with a napkin. The man was surprisingly gentle as he brushed the tears away with the cloth napkin, and Robin wished for the thousandth time that he could see Slade's face, could see the villain's emotions in his expression, could get a glimpse of what went on underneath.

"Calm yourself and eat. After this, the nurses will give you a bath and put you to bed."

Robin nodded sleepily, trying to blink back the tears.

"Look at him," Gray Hair smirked. "We could snap his neck right now and he'd never even know it. He really is just a child."

"I am not," Robin found the strength to argue. "I've fought against –"

"Silence!" Slade thundered. "Children only speak when spoken to."

"He was speaking to me."

"He was speaking about you. Eat your food and do not annoy us with your senseless chatter."

Robin swallowed hard to rein in his temper. Despite the pain of his training, this seemed the worst injustice. Batman had been hard, but he had never forbidden Robin to speak, especially not when Robin had a question.

He took a few more bites of food, concentrating on the taste to keep from shedding more tears. He would not let Slade break him, he would not.

"I say we beat him," Black Eyes smirked evilly. "Beat him for every infraction he dares to make. And if we happen to a snap a bone or two, so be it."

Robin knew the goon was trying to rile him up so he said nothing, continuing to eat.

"That will be my discretion," Slade took a sip of wine. "But I'm afraid our young villain in training is too tired tonight to appreciate a bedtime spanking or even a thorough lashing. Ladies, you will make sure he gets to bed as quickly as possible."

Nurse Wilkes nodded, but Nurse Ratchet said, "Of course, Slade."

Robin blinked, shocked to hear her speak. Her voice was low, a seductive purr that made Robin stop breathing. She looked at him, blue eyes intense and divisive, as if she was looking forward to having him under her power again. The nurse uniform had to be only one of her costumes – she was a cunning villain with dangerous beauty and lethal seduction.

For the first time in his life, he understood how Batman must feel about Catwoman and Poison Ivy. They were more than just female villains; they had more power than an average male supervillain because despite the crimes and the violence and the costumes, when all was said and done, they were women and Batman was a man.

Robin felt he had entered a world much more complicated than he had ever supposed when he signed the contract.

"We'll take very, very good care of him," Nurse Ratchet smiled.

The fork slipped from Robin's hand again, clattering on the plate and bouncing to the table.


	4. The Machine

Robin froze, staring at his fork on the table. He had just been punished for dropping his fork to the floor, but surely this wasn't as bad. He couldn't look at Slade; that would have been as good as an admission of guilt. So, Robin did the only thing that made any kind of logical sense.

He scooped up food with both hands and crammed it in his mouth.

The adults at the table stiffened, and from the corner of his eye, Robin could see the woman in a business suit shake her head in dismay.

Robin crammed another handful of food in his mouth, but it was too much, too fast, and the air went down the wrong pipe or something, and he choked.

For a second, he couldn't breathe, and he was scrambling for air as his eyes watered. Then his body lurched, and he had just enough time to lean to the right of his chair before he threw up on the floor.

He retched twice. The nasty vomit came up and spilled on the polished wood.

Blinded by tears and still coughing, Robin felt his chair being pulled back. He didn't fight. He fleetingly wondered if Slade would spank him again or inflict a new torture or punch him, but the pain in his chest from coughing and the dizziness from vomiting overrode any fear of what Slade might do to him.

Slade had a hand on his arm and was pulling him towards the door. Robin could barely walk, and his bare feet scuffed along to keep up.

"Some choice for an apprentice," Gray Hair remarked. "He's as weak as a baby."

With the last remaining energy, Robin turned and grabbed the nearest thing he could reach (a small vase) and tried to hurl it at Gray Hair. But in his condition, Robin's aim was off, and the vase went too high. It soared over the table and crashed into the wall, knocking a picture off.

Robin bared his teeth in a snarl, too weak to think of anything to say.

"You'll be punished for that tomorrow," Slade said calmly as he tugged Robin out into the hall. "You can't stay out of trouble for two minutes. I wonder why Batman ever took you in. Even your dead parents weren't enough –"

Robin didn't let him finish; he twisted and sank his teeth into Slade's arm.

Hissing, Slade whipped his arm around to get free, and Robin stumbled back into the wall. He felt cornered, trapped, animalistic – but the adrenaline was enough to overcome the exhaustion from training and vomiting from eating too fast.

He didn't like people to talk about Batman, but he hated it when anyone said something unkind about his parents. Yeah, Batman could be a jerk sometimes and cold other times and a full-on jackass occasionally, but his parents had been nothing but good to him.

"Talk about my parents," he snarled at Slade, "say one word about them, and I'll kill you right here."

Slade had his hand over the bite mark, but said nothing.

"My parents are off limits," Robin went on, ignoring the growing headache that was beginning to throb. "Batman you can trash, the Teen Titans you can ridicule – hell, you can sneer at me all you like. But my parents do not get mentioned by you or any of your staff. I don't care what that contract says – the minute you say anything about my mom or dad, I leave here forever."

Slade still said nothing, and Robin felt his legs start to tremble. He didn't have much fight left in him, but he summoned all his remaining strength to demand, "You agree, or one of us dies right here tonight. I'm not moving another inch until you agree to leave my parents alone."

"Your parents, God rest them, will be off limits," Slade nodded as if he were granting a generous request.

"Good," Robin let out his breath. He leaned back against the wall as his knees went out, and for a blind second of panic, he thought he would pass out cold on the floor.

"He's going to make himself sick again," Nurse Ratchet said from somewhere. "He's shaking all over. I told you not to push him so hard on his first day."

Nurse Wilkes stepped beside him. She reached a hand out and pressed two fingers against the side of his neck. Robin stared at her, dizzy and unsteady.

"His heartbeat's too fast and weak," she announced. "He hasn't recovered from the time he spent in your dungeon. He'll be running a fever later."

"Just like a man," Ratchet sniffed, casting Slade a look of scorn. "Breaks his toys before he's done playing with them."

Slade turned ominously towards her, and Robin stumbled forward, mumbling, "No . . . I'll protect you."

He slipped past her and fell to the ground, crumpled in a heap between Slade and the nurse. Weakly, he pushed at Slade's boots. "Don't hurt her."

"Oh, for crying out loud," Ratchet put her hands on her hips. "This is pathetic. The boy's practically broken. Another day won't make a difference."

"When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it," Slade said.

"She's right," Wilkes interjected. "Put him in the machine and be done with it."

"Machine?" Robin lifted his head. Groaning, he rolled to all fours. He didn't have the energy to stand so he started crawling away.

The three adults looked down at him.

"Oh," Ratchet smiled, "he's like a little puppy, avoiding bath time."

They walked behind him slowly as Robin kept crawling. His body ached, his head pounded, he could barely see from the waves of nausea, and he was still hungry and thirsty. But he wouldn't give up.

"You can't stop me," he groaned. "I'm making my escape."

"Naughty," Slade observed. "You signed a contract. A gentleman should honor his word."

"A gentleman can suck it," Robin returned.

Slade chuckled. "You are quite the handful."

"You're not going to stop me?"

"Why should I? You're heading right towards the machine."

Robin slowed to a stop. He turned to one side and crawled around, but Slade's legs blocked his way.

"My dear boy, there are three of us and one of you."

"Faced bigger odds," Robin muttered.

"My men are right behind me, and you cut their dinner short," Slade went on. "So why don't you give up and come quietly? Honor our agreement?"

"I don't give up. Ever."

"You gave up and signed the contract to get out of a punishment."

"Beating," Robin lowered his head. "You were beating me."

"And now I've beaten you."

"For now, but –" Robin's reply was cut short as Gray Hair and Black Eyes grabbed him from behind and pulled him up. He snarled at Slade (the man had to be smirking under that mask) before the goons dragged him down the hallway.

They all got into an elevator, five adults and a disgruntled Robin who wanted to swear but thought better of it. He could barely stand, but he was concentrating on pulling in energy to fight them off once they got off the elevator.

They went down a long ways, and when they got off, the doors opened, Robin lurched forward.

He came to a short stop when he saw the room – a large space with wires and tubes connected to the machine in the middle of the room. The machine was a metal form in the shape of a body, standing up, lined with tiny nubs inside. There were cuffs at the ankles and neck. It was not high enough for a grown man to fit inside, but for a boy –

To one side, the front panel of the machine was held up in a stand, but Robin could see the latches on the side. It was meant to close the person inside.

"No! No!" He backed up violently, his entire body lit with terror.

His phobia of tight spaces slammed into him and he fought wild, shrieking with hysteria as they pulled him into the room. They pulled off his clothes, leaving him in his shorts.

"You had to bring him in not blindfolded," Nurse Ratchet said as they got Robin to the machine. "Blindfolds every time, Slade!"

"Quiet, woman!" Gray Hair snapped.

"No, no," Robin screamed as they got him locked down. He thrashed against the restraints as tears filled his eyes again. "No, no, please. Slade, please don't lock me in here. Please, don't. I can't do it. I can't breathe. Please!"

"Such a baby," Gray Hair commented as he and Black Eyes reached for the front cover.

"Shut up," Slade stepped in front of the machine. "Robin, Robin, calm down. You're going to give yourself a stroke. The cover doesn't reach above your head. See?

The front did look shorter, curved down at the top, but Robin couldn't stop. He begged them not to as they locked the front on, encasing him in the machine. The front part fit at his neck, just over his collarbone.

"Let me out!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Let me out! I'm going to kill you all, you stupid fuc- umph!"

Slade shoved the mouth-guard into his mouth and held it there as Robin's teeth fit into the grooves. "You'll thank me for this tomorrow when you're not groaning from sore muscles," Slade said.

Robin stared at him with wide, frightened eyes, but Slade kept a grip on the front of the mouth-guard as he continued,

"What's about to happen to you is years of research, years of searching for the right medicine, the right combination of technology and biology to enhance the human body. I would describe the intricacies of this machine, my creation, my beauty, but I think you'd learn it better by experiencing it."

Robin tried to spit the mouth-guard out, but Slade shook his head.

"Ah, ah, we don't want you biting your own tongue off. Trust me to take good care of you."

Slade nodded, but Robin couldn't see what was happening, the edges of the machine blocking his eyesight. But the machine whirled to life around him.

It hummed, vibrating softly as the noise grew louder. Robin pulled against the restraints, tried to shake off the mouth guard, tried to beg Slade one last time, but all in vain.

Slade put his free hand on the side of Robin's face, his warm fingers laying over the boy's cold, tearstained cheek. "You might as well relax. It's not like you have a choice in any of this."

The machine started.

That was Robin's last coherent thought as the thing came alive. It was all over him, every inch of his skin, the bumps of the lining of the machine moving against him.

Robin nearly saw stars as the stimulation overwhelmed him, the bumps growing harder and more obtrusive against his skin. The bumps shook, shot out, vibrated, buzzed, and just plain moved. It was like being massaged hard from every angle all at once, and it hurt, but it felt good, but it felt too much. Some places were ticklish, but the moment he registered the sensation, other places were being touched.

Various tiny needles came out to prick him all over, but the pain disappeared once the bumps massaged over the injection sites.

Robin wanted to scream again. He wondered if he was crying. His eyes were open, but he couldn't understand anything he saw as his vision went in and out. His teeth gnawed down on the mouth guard, pressing deep into its plastic shelves as he looked for something to balance the sensations happening to him.

Water filled the inside of the machine, and he wondered hazily if he were drowning. The nubs kept moving, sloshing water against his skin until it felt like a tight whirlpool, cleaning him thoroughly. He wondered if the machine had taken away all his skin – did he have any limbs left? It might be awful to wake up and find he had no limbs.

Then the water changed. The liquid turned thicker, gooier, coating the inside of the machine. The bumps still hummed, crawling all over him as he stood helpless.

A bright light shone in his eye. Slade stood in front of him, pointing a pin light into his eye. Robin winced and screwed his eyes tight. He wanted to be left alone. The machine wanted all of his attention.

He tried to remember his training, remember to focus, just like Batman had taught him, but he couldn't picture Batman's face or his voice or any of the Teen Titans. The pain had disappeared, along with most of his senses. His mind seemed to float, up somewhere over his body, riding the waves of euphoria as the machine manipulated him in one long, endless cycle.

He must have dozed off because he shifted slightly when the mouth guard was removed from his mouth. The machine still moved around him, not as invasive but still insistent.

Slade wiped the drool from his mouth, but Robin just closed his eyes. A rubber bottle top was inserted in his mouth, like the night before, and he drank it hungrily. Chocolate-flavored this time, but still cold and smooth.

The machine had eaten him. It gulped him down, devoured his body, harvested his brain. He was the machine. But it didn't matter anymore.

Robin kept sucking as the movement continued.

Across the room, Gray Hair and Black Eyes stood watch. Nurse Wilkes was at the computer, watching the five screens that monitored the machine. Robin's heartbeat and temperature beeped on one screen; his oxygen levels and brain activity were on another.

"Is he unconscious?" Ratchet stood beside Slade, watching Robin's still face.

"No, he's almost asleep but every few minutes he swallows more nutrients."

"Four cycles complete," Wilkes called out.

"How many are there?" Ratchet asked.

"Seven," Slade replied. "Muscle massage, tissue regrowth, dermis cleaning, muscle repair, body conditioning, vitamin insertion, and then a last special concoction that I borrowed from a certain friend."

"You broke him down just to build him up again. He's never going to submit to you if you keep giving him hope that he can beat you."

"Are you the super-mind here or my paid nurse?" Slade asked coldly. "My purpose isn't to break him, it's to bend him. I punish him, I reward him, I hurt him, I heal him. The more erratic my treatment, the more he comes to depend on me. It won't matter if he's strong as an ox – he won't be able to lift a finger against me without permission."

"So this is basically a lesson in Stockholm Syndrome?" Ratchet pursed her lips. "You make a person dependent on you and then, guess what? They depend on you. No one could possibly see that coming."

"Punishments work just as well on outspoken employees as they do unruly children," Slade warned.

She scoffed as she stepped forward to center the bottle nipple in Robin's mouth. "I could be in Gotham right now, fighting Batman or stealing from Catwoman, but instead you want me here to watch after this child."

"I could always return you to Penguin."

Ratchet glanced at him warily, but she said nothing as she took a cool cloth and wiped the tears and sweat away from Robin's face. The boy twitched, gulping down another mouthful of drink from the hose that was attached to the top of the machine.

"Take a note from your partner in crime and learn to keep your thoughts to yourself."

Wilkes didn't glance up from the screens. "I will say, Slade, I'm surprised he didn't put up a bigger fight. Are you sure we have the right Robin? This is the daring Teen Titan that gave in because you spanked him and doesn't have the strength to fight back after aday of training and three days in a dungeon? Not much of a superhero in my book."

"I have the right boy. I've been giving him mild drugs since last night, and we know what a screwed up relationship he had with the Dark Knight. Batman was forever lecturing him and withholding affection. He wavered between neglect and over-indulgence."

"Over-indulgence?" Ratchet asked.

"We all know Bruce Wayne paid for Titan Tower," Slade said. "That's what kills our young superhero. The one person who claims to love him, who adopted him, who trained him, can't be bothered to concentrate on him for more than a second before rushing off to save Gotham. No, no. What Robin will get here is my undivided attention. Here he gets the stern father figure he's always needed."

Robin didn't move as Slade removed the empty tube from his lips. His eyes remained closed, but his cheeks turned slightly pick as the round of vitamins began pulsing through hot air in the machine. The vitamins would be rubbed on Robin's skin, ingested through his pores before the tiny needles started injecting the more serious vitamins.

"I just want to know," Ratchet swallowed nervously, "what is your special concoction? We should know if we're going to give him the proper care."

"I borrowed it from a very big brute, so big the Bat's scared of him."

"Bane's serum?" Ratchet whirled towards him. "You stole his venom?"

"Borrowed, my dear. Not enough to notice, certainly not enough to create our own monster. Just enough to give Robin a little kick."

Wilkes turned away from the screens to stare at him. Only the goons guarding the door seemed unfazed.

"May I suggest you tie him down to the bed extra tight tonight," Slade chuckled.

"You're playing with fire," Ratchet warned.

"Probably. Make sure the video cameras are on him for the last round. I want to see if his veins turn hard when we inject the diluted venom."

An hour later, the machine finally whirled to a stop. Robin, who hadn't moved since the vitamin round, was dead to the world as the suction pressure eased off. The goons unlocked the panel front.

Robin's skin had a flushed, healthy glow to it. His chest rose and fell as he breathed; his arms and legs looked stronger, more robust than they had two hours ago.

He didn't wake up as they pulled him out and wrapped him in a robe. Slade scooped him up in his arms and carried him into the elevator.

Robin's eyes fluttered open once when he was put to bed in his own room, but he didn't make a sound.

R&R&R&R

Consciousness gradually returned to Robin at the end of a series of strange dreams. Morning light shone through the high window, and he stared at it as he tried to remember where he was.

His face heated up at the memory of what he had endured the day before. That was Slade for you – not just a villain who wanted to win and beat you but a villain who also wanted to shame and humiliate you just for his own twisted pleasure.

Batman had never done that. Oh, sure, Batman had pointed out his mistakes, grating on tiny little details until Robin nearly lost his temper, but Batman took no pleasure in it. Robin hated seeing that scowl under the cowl directed at him, but he had forced himself to listen to Batman's lectures, muttering "Yes, sir" every so often so Batman wouldn't think he was defiant.

The nice thing about being the leader of the Titans was that they rarely ever questioned him, not as superheroes. Their arguments tended to be on a more personal level – what to order for dinner when everyone was tired of pizza, who should get Raven out of her dark funk, who to tell Starfire that the hugging needed to happen less frequently.

They often blew up at each other, proving to Robin's dismay that they were more like normal teenagers than he wanted to admit. He used to go to his room and sit there at the end of their fights. Cyborg said he was sulking, and Beast Boy would stand outside his room, saying, "Stop sulking, Robin. Come out and we'll be friends again. I'll get the girls to apologize to you. No one thinks your hair is stupid – Starfire doesn't know how human hair should look."

But Robin hadn't been sulking. He had been sitting on his bed, staring at the phone, wondering if he should call Batman. It would have been so comforting then to tell Batman about their problems, their little spats – he would have loved to gripe, "Come on, Bruce, really. Why does Starfire have to love every animal in the universe? And Beast Boy won't stop bouncing around when we're trying to concentrate. It's so annoying!"

But he never picked up the phone. You didn't call Batman about everyday normal problems. You called him when the world was about to end, when you were dying, when you were completely and utterly beaten.

Robin glanced down at the bed, at his wrists locked snugly into the cuffs. The world wasn't ending; he had just been kidnapped. He wasn't dying; he wasn't even sore. Whatever that horrid machine had done to him, he felt stronger than ever. And he wasn't beaten, not yet.

He wouldn't call Batman even if he had a phone right next to him. In fact, he wouldn't tell Batman about any of this once he got free. Being a superhero wasn't about whining over inconveniences. It was about survival and endurance and beating bad guys and protecting people and never, ever letting Slade win.

Robin sat up, intending to wiggle his wrists out of the cuffs like the day before. But he sat up too quickly and yanked.

The metal anchoring of the cuffs snapped free like paperclips, and the leather ripped off the buckles. The bed gave a sad groan at the sudden movement, shuddering beneath him.

Robin stared in horror at the loose restraints. He hadn't meant to break them.

What had they done to his body? He felt roughly the same, well, better than he had in a long time, but nothing too strange. He looked the same, but his strength –

Footsteps sounded in the hallway.

Panicked, Robin looked around trying to decide what to do. Make a break for it? Hide somewhere? Demand answers?

The doorknob turned, and Robin did the only thing he could. He put his arms down, laid back on the pillow, and closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

Maybe they would think the cuffs broke in his sleep. Maybe they would think the cuffs were already broken. Either way, he wanted to hide his new-found strength until he had time to figure out a plan.

A mean little voice in the back of his head told him that Batman would have already had a plan. He promptly told the little voice to suck it.


	5. Resist Breaking

Outside Gotham City

Starfire slowed to a halt over the big house, cocking her head to the side as she surveyed the monstrosity of gables and eaves. Yes, this was Wayne Manor, and according to Robin, Batman lived here.

She landed in the front yard and smoothed down her skirt. She did not have a mirror, but she ran her fingers through her hair before trotting up the stairs. Batman was important to Robin, and she planned to make a good impression.

She rapped on the knocker just as she had seen humans do time after time. Knock and wait for someone on the other side to open the door. Knock and blow the door apart – humans did not like that.

It opened and an older man with gray hair looked at her. "Good morning, miss -?"

"Starfire. I am here to speak to the Batman."

The man's eyes grew big, but she kept going.

"I am Robin's partner and he has gone missing. Are you the Batman? You look too old to be the Batman, but I have learned not to judge humans on age."

"I'm Alfred. Come in, come in," he motioned her hurriedly. Once inside, he surveyed her carefully. "You are one of the Teen Titans, yes? Most superhero concerns are handled down in the Cave, Miss Starfire."

"I am sorry," she frowned. "I did not see a cave. If you show me the way, I will go find it."

"Wait here," he told her.

Starfire glanced around the large room while Alfred left. She liked the height of the ceiling, and she wished she could float up and touch the Gothic arches. But she did not. Robin did not like her floating. Robin had asked her to stop many times when he was training. She liked to hover over him while he did all the fighting moves, but he complained that it freaked him out to have her right above him, watching him.

"Robin is very sensitive," Starfire traced the floor pattern with her shoe. "He does not appreciate my concern. But I know how to take care of him. I like taking care of him. I like all of him."

She locked her hands together and swayed back and forth, in the same way she always did when she really thought about Robin. The warmth in her middle grew the more she thought about him. Oh, Robin, Robin!

"Miss Starfire?" Alfred stepped back in the room. "Batman will see you in the Cave now."

She stayed quiet during the lift ride down, but when she got out in the Cave, she frowned at the man who approached. He was tall and big with dark hair, wearing sweaty exercise clothes.

"You are not the Batman."

"Yes, I'm Bruce Wayne," the man said. "Starfire, we've met before."

"The Batman is covered in black with points on his head. You have no points."

"It's a costume," Bruce said impatiently. "Where's Robin? What's wrong with Robin?"

"Oh," Starfire's face fell. "Robin, Robin. He is missing."

"Missing? For how long?"

"Four days now. Four long days."

Bruce hesitated, his forehead creasing. "He's gone off before, right? Sometimes he goes on missions –"

"But this was no mission. He said nothing. He is gone and I am desperate with worry. Robin, my sweet Robin."

"Okay, calm down. I'm going to start searching for him. You come and tell me what happened the last time you saw him."

Bruce went to his wall of computers, and Starfire sat in the empty chair, sighing and moping.

"We had a fight downtown. We thought it was Slade but it was just the H.I.V.E. kids. We found them. I hate them so I punched hard. They ran, and I looked around but Robin was gone. I still remember his last words 'I see someone in that van. I'll get them. You guys go back to the Tower and order pizza.' His last words to me, beautiful last words."

"You kids eat too much pizza," Bruce grumbled as he brought up a map of Jump City. "What about the others? Were they worried?"

"They said Robin had gone off again on his little power trips and they did not care what happened to him. Beast Boy wanted to wear his uniform again. But we did that last time. We all got to see what it was like to be inside Robin's clothes."

Bruce cast a suspicious look at her. He had never paid attention to just how short her skirt was, or how long her hair was or how her lashes framed her glowing eyes. And why did she have to show so much of her stomach? He turned back to the computers while she kept sighing.

"I asked Raven to help, but she said no. Cyborg was busy with his machines. He has computers like you. His are more complicated."

"Well, he's half-machine so that makes sense," Bruce snapped, but Starfire had stood up and started pacing.

"Robin could be in danger. He is not as strong as he thinks. We have practiced before. He is quick but eventually I can knock him over and pin him down. He struggles. I like the feel of him underneath me."

"All right," Bruce turned from the computers which flashed multiple screens of navigation, "I have to ask. You two aren't . . . I mean, you're just teenagers."

"We are teenagers," Starfire nodded. "I am older than him in human years, but I don't tell him that. I am taller, too, but we pretend not to notice. He is perfect, my sweet Robin."

Bruce watched her carefully as he scrambled to remember if Starfire's bedroom was next to Robin's in Teen Tower. Maybe it was time to install some cameras in the Tower to keep an eye on teenage hormones.

"Robin," Starfire collapsed back in the chair, "oh, Robin. Do you know the gel he uses in his hair? It smells so nice – like soap. His nose is so cute. I love his mouth. He has pretty lips over his teeth."

"Oh good grief," Bruce went back to the computer. "I'm having a talk with him when we find him. And," he lowered his voice, "putting one of you in a chastity belt."

"I do not know what I would do without him," Starfire flopped over the arm of her chair. "He brings me gifts of his heart. A flower he found. A cup of icy soda. Once even a book about medieval weapons. My Robin! I love to touch his hair, his cape, his toolbelt –"

"You have to stop," Bruce covered his eyes. "I knew it was a bad idea to let him live with two girls without adult supervision. I should bring him back here once I find him."

"No!" She stood, and fire-bolts leapt out of her green eyes, bouncing loudly off the cave walls. "Robin belongs with me. I will die without him!"

"Calm down," Bruce cautioned. "I just think you two need to be sensible. Is there a reason you wear those clothes? Surely you can find something more appropriate."

"Like the Woman of Wonder?" Starfire raised her small eyebrows.

"Touché," Bruce typed for a few minutes. He couldn't find a trace of Robin anywhere over the last four days; it did seem that he had disappeared. Bruce went to his running police log next to screen for any distress signal.

Starfire continued to sigh and mope and groan over her Robin. At one point, she ended up prone on the floor as she despaired over the perfection of Robin's chin. Bruce stepped over her, wishing he could slap the cuteness right off Robin to make him less attractive to love-struck girls.

After finding nothing on his missing protégé, Bruce went to change into the Suit. Starfire stood right outside the privacy stand, still moaning.

"We danced together once. Robin held me so close. He is the best dancer of the world. Another girl wanted to dance with him. I will kill her."

"Starfire, why don't you go home?" Bruce tightened the Suit over his chest. "Talk to the kids there and wait for my call."

"No, I am coming with you. You are human like Robin – I have to protect you from danger. You break so easily. Why are human men so fragile?"

It was official. Bruce hated aliens.

"Okay, you can ride in the car. But you can't talk."

"I do not talk very much. I would never speak another word if I could spend just five more minutes with Robin. Did I tell you what he said to me last week? He said my hair looked like it was on fire, alive with beautiful fire."

"Doesn't really sound like Robin . . ."

"Of course, my hair actually was on fire. But do you not think he was referring to my pretty color of red?"

"Why don't you go wait by the car?"

Bruce had just fastened the cowl on when the Batmobile intruder alarm started blaring. "I said by the car, not in it!" he said in his angriest Batman growl, stomping towards her.

Starfire looked guiltily down at the handle in her hand, the handle she had ripped off the Batmobile. "Sometimes I am confused by human language," she offered up sheepishly.

Batman snatched the handle from her. "Get in the car."

"You give orders just like Robin," she sighed. "I could listen to his orders forever."

As he swung into the Batmobile, Batman wondered if it was possible to wire an alien's mouth shut. And force her into a longer shirt.

R&R&R&R&R

Robin pretended to come awake as the nurses came in. He yawned, but kept his arms still as they unbuckled the cuffs.

Nurse Ratchet frowned as she pulled up the broken end of one cuff. "What –"

"Oh, no," Robin said blankly. "What happened? Did I do that while I was sleeping? I guess it's all this training. I don't know my own strength."

He laughed weakly, but Ratchet pursed her lips.

"You're not supposed to break things."

"Oh, that's rich," Robin felt relief sweep over him, but he was careful to steer the conversation away from the broken cuffs. "Slade breaks things all the time."

"Of course he does. His code name is Deathstroke after all. Now come along and don't be difficult."

They helped him out of bed, and Robin was careful to keep his body lack and limp. If he protested anything they did, he might break them before he knew what he was doing. He didn't care so much about Wilkes, but he kind of liked Ratchet. She looked unharmed this morning, and Robin breathed another sigh of relief. If Slade had hurt her, he would have to destroy him.

He had every intention of destroying Slade anyway, but that would be later, once he got control of his newfound power.

"Slade wants you in this," Ratchet pulled out two hangers, one with black pants and the other with a blue button-down shirt.

"Oh, okay," Robin took the clothes, keeping his fingers so limp the hangers nearly slipped off. "Am I not training today?"

"Just put on the clothes."

They brought his breakfast after that – a full tray of eggs, bacon, sausage, fruit, toast, yogurt with granola, juice, and milk. He ate ravenously, scraping every last morsel off the plates. He hadn't been this hungry since the weekend Bruce dropped him in the woods to survive for a week, and it had been three days of starvation until Robin was able to kill a rabbit and cook it over a small fire.

Twice he bent the fork in half. He pulled it straight before either nurse noticed.

"Slow down," Ratchet said as she pulled the medical cart over to him. "You need to take doses in between."

She handed him a paper cup with four pills in it. He tossed them back with juice and kept eating. Wilkes moved to take Ratchet's place and started pouring out medicine into small plastic dose cups. Robin made a face but he drank the first medicine cup without complaint.

He had just swallowed the four shots of medicine when he felt hands on his forehead. Ratchet was behind him, combing his hair back with a small black comb.

Robin froze, careful to relax as she groomed him. Any small reaction – flinching away, shrugging his shoulders, even turning his head – might injure her.

"There," she smiled as she rested her hands on his shoulders, "you look presentable. Try not to upset Slade today. We'd like him a little calmer."

They lead him down another hallway and left him in wooden-paneled study. A tall window let in light from a gray sky. Robin went to peer out. The room he stood in was high over a courtyard but they seemed to be far away from civilization. Rows of mountains stretched over the horizon, but he didn't see any human markers.

Robin's hand rested lightly on the window ledge as he looked out the clear glass panes. The sky seemed sulky, threatening rain.

"Thinking of jumping?"

Robin jumped at Slade's voice. The window ledge cracked under his hand. He looked down at his hand and the half-broken wood. A little putty and paint might clean it up, but he didn't have either of those things.

"Come have a seat," Slade motioned to a table and chair.

Robin pressed the broken wood back into the sill and stepped back. It wasn't too noticeable. He walked to the table and gingerly pulled the chair out.

"I think it's time we had a good talk," Slade said. "A good quiet talk to set some things clear."

Robin sat down, praying the chair didn't break. It creaked under him, but stayed whole. He had no clue what to do with his hands – the arms of the chair looked fragile and the table itself seemed thin. Robin placed his hands on his own knees and waited.

"I'm not accustomed to losing," Slade went on. "I make winning a priority. I don't lose, and one of the reasons I always win is because I don't have ideals. I never pretend to think the best of people. People really are the worst, after all."

Robin leaned back slowly until he heard the wood creak under his weight. Slade was saying things that should upset him, but hiding his new strength was more important than rising to Slade's bait.

"But that doesn't mean I believe myself immortal," Slade walked round the table until he faced Robin. "It's a fundamental need of humans to pass down their ideals to the next generation. I see much of myself in you, Robin. Your determination, your need to prove yourself, your temper."

"That could be Batman, too."

"I thought you wanted to distance yourself from your original mentor."

"I do, but he trained me so, you know," Robin shrugged. He felt the right arm of the chair crack. Geez, what had they given him? This stuff was dangerous.

"No," Slade studied him thoughtfully, "I don't know. Explain it to me."

Robin swallowed. His relationship with Batman had always been tense, fraught with friction. He loved Bruce like a father – thought of him as a father, but Bruce drove him crazy sometimes. All his rules, his lecturing, his scolding, his need to control every last little –

Robin felt the chair groan underneath him, and he drew in a deep breath. He felt ready to rip the room apart, but he needed to relax. There was no need to tip his hand now before he had a plan for escape. He needed the element of surprise on his side; he needed to act before Slade could devise a plan to stop him.

Relax, relax, remember the good things about Batman. His confidence, his dedication to training, his calm demeanor when delivering justice. Those times on the dark streets of Gotham when they had met scum, thieves, wife beaters, child abusers, and Robin had wanted to beat them into pulp. Batman had been calm, restraining himself from breaking bones or smashing faces once the criminals were detained.

"We're justice," he had told Robin. "We're not revenge."

Another calming breath, and Robin looked up at Slade.

"Batman has his methods. I have mine. One isn't better than the other. We choose the path that best suits us."

"Save the after-school special for someone who actually believes it," Slade smiled condescendingly. "I know you wanted Batman to pay you more attention."

"I got enough attention. Training every day, patrolling, learning to use all those machines. That's why I left. It was time for me to be independent and do my own thing."

"Typical teenage vagueness," Slade said, a smirk in his voice. "They can't ever state what they want directly so they disguise it in empty words. That pretty girl on your team, she is attracted to you and you to her, yes?"

Robin felt a blush creep up his neck at the mention of Starfire. "It's – it's not like that with her."

"You want to kiss her, touch her, maybe even have sex with her?"'

"Slade!" Robin balled his hands into fists to keep from shattering the chair to pieces. "Stop it!"

"Stop what? Speaking the truth?"

"We're superheroes. We're not supposed to say things like that. Batman says –"

"What does he say? What does the man who keeps up the front of a playboy and who has bedded half of Gotham's socialites say about it?"

"That's a pretense," Robin offered weakly. "He has to keep up a front so his identity stays a secret."

"So rather than act like a social misfit who hides away from the public as his front, he decided a better front was a philandering stud whose one mission becomes to not spread STDs to all his various one-night stands?"

"Maybe he didn't sleep with all those women," Robin offered, almost helplessly.

"Did you ask him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because," Robin shrugged and ignored the chair groaning beneath him, "it wasn't my – you know."

"You were the child and he was the adult so you accepted his decisions without question?" Slade leaned forward, his one eye penetrating. "He was the established superhero and you were the new fledging so you obeyed blindly."

Robin said nothing.

"How is what he did to you anything different than what I've done to you?"

Robin's head shot up defiantly. "He didn't kidnap me. He took me in and adopted me."

"So, what you're saying is that if I took you in at age eight and forced you to go along with my credence that would be acceptable but taking you in at age sixteen and trying the same is kidnapping?"

"Batman didn't put me in a dungeon and beat me."

"But he put you in a situation where you couldn't question him or his decisions. And you want me to believe he never punished you physically?"

"He wasn't so harsh. And he didn't lock me in that-that moving machine."

"Don't you feel better this morning?"

The man had an answer for everything. Robin debated standing up and punching him so hard that the mask was permanently imbedded in Slade's face, just to get him to shut up. How could anyone think with such annoying, devil's-advocate logic constantly coming and upsetting all the absolutes that Robin had set up in his mind to guide him. It was easier to accept that Batman was right about his choices and going from there; if he started questioning Batman, then it meant questioning everything he knew, and Robin wasn't ready for that, not yet.

"I'm not talking anymore," Robin decided. "Just get on with whatever you want me to do today. Put me back in that training room and I'll move the rocks again."

"Today is about training your mind and talking with me," Slade answered.

"I said I'm not talking," Robin scowled.

"I'd watch the backtalk if I were you. You already have a reprimand coming for throwing things last night."

Shoot! Robin had forgotten about that. Blast Slade and his disciplinary methods, and there was no way Robin could hold himself still for a punishment, not with all this power coursing through his body. He should just make a run for it now. He eyed the window. Could he jump out and land and still be okay?

"But I might be lenient. If you can show repentance . . ."

"What do you want me to do?" Robin sighed. "Call you master? Get on my knees and beg not to be hit? Call Batman names?"

"Please," Slade scoffed. He took a tiny key out of his pocket and held it out. "Take this key and go to the shelf over there. There is a small box there. Unlock it and take out the paper inside. Careful though. The box is very delicate."

Robin froze with the key in his hand. Did Slade know about his newfound strength? Surely the man would have said something.

"Go on," Slade nodded to the shelf. "But don't think this means that I am going to go easy on you. That isn't what you need. I've long been of the mind that those who respond best to punishments, who protest it the most, who fear it the most are those who need it the most."

Robin rolled his eyes (Slade couldn't see of course) but he directed most of his attention to his new task – unlocking the tiny box. It lay there innocently on the shelf, slightly bigger than his hand, made of delicate bamboo.

A deep breath, and Robin pulled the box forward between his thumb and index finger. The box shuddered under the movement, feeling like mere strips of paper. Batman had once done something similar – he had made Robin build a house of cards to practice precision and placement. But that had been on a quiet Tuesday evening in the Batcave, and Robin didn't have some weird serum pulsing through his body that made him want to break a hole in the nearest wall.

"You need some kind of motivation," Slade kept talking. "You're the kind of boy who needs constant supervision and consequences to keep in line, otherwise you fall into misadventure and trouble. You crave discipline and order because you're incapable of bringing it to your own life."

Robin had the key out and his hand shook as he inserted it into the slot. Slade was still talking about punishments and Robin just gave a noncommittal "Mmmm," but his attention focused only on the box.

He tried to turn the key.

It stuck.

A bead of sweat ran down his right temple as he gulped. He would not break the box by forcing it open – he would not!

"Which is why I'm sure you'll agree with my disciplinary methods," Slade went on. "You might object and protest during them, but that's all lip-service. Deep inside, you know that without reprimand the guilt will eat you alive. You prefer me to be this way with you, yes?"

"Yes," Robin muttered as he stared at the key. He gently turned it, but the key was still stuck in the difficult lock.

"And I'm sure you'll agree that all the punishments you've received here were appropriate. You deserved all of them."

"I'm sure I did," Robin parroted back as he squinted at the box. Normally he would pick up the box to examine why it was stuck, but now he didn't trust the fragile thing in his rough hands.

"Good to know. What is taking so long?"

"The key is stuck," Robin blinked the sweat out of his eyes.

"Then loosen it and try again. I swear, Robin, sometimes I think you try my patience deliberately."

Desperate, Robin pressed the key again. It turned and the top opened. But he had turned too hard and the key ripped the whole lock out of the box, tearing out the front of the box.

"Oh," Robin said as he looked down at it.

Slade stalked over to him to survey the damage. "You did that on purpose."

"I didn't – I swear!"

"Ha! Bend over the table for your punishment."

Robin trudged towards the table, but he stopped. The table looked solid until he noticed its spindly legs and weak joints. Slade would smack hard and Robin knew his first involuntary buck would crush the table into pieces.

"Please, don't," Robin said.

"What?" Slade was too close, too demanding. "You just agreed that you needed this."

Robin pushed his temper down and resisted the urge to throw the table at Slade. "I know, sir. I'm sorry for breaking the box, but please don't punish me. I'll be good – I'll do better." Slade crossed his arms, and Robin hurried on. "Or if you have to punish me, can't you do it later?"

"Why should I?"

"Because – because," Robin tossed around for a reason, "if you punish me now, it won't matter for later."

"Excuse me?"

Robin hated himself but he thought quick and decided to use Slade's own logic. "If you punish me now, it will be over and I'll have no motivation to keep behaving. But if you wait until later, like tonight, I'll be dreading it all day and it will make me," Robin swallowed, despising himself, "focused and obedient."

"My," the smirk was back in Slade's voice, "you are a quick study. I suppose we could wait. But if we do it tonight, you're going over my knee."

Robin's face flushed scarlet. He was going to kill Slade – that was a given. "All right. And I am sorry about the box. That was an accident."

"Hmph!" Slade scoffed. "A likely story. Get the piece of paper out."

The scrap of paper inside had a Latin poem on it and Slade set him to translating it.

That turned out to be the activity of the day – schoolwork. Robin didn't mind school stuff normally. His aptitude for languages and reading abilities had always been strong suits for him. He was enrolled with school online, but he seldom gave that more than an hour or two a day. He could speed-read and type fast, and as he got all A's on his projects, he never worried too much about the fact that he didn't learn for the required four hours a day that the homeschooling demanded from its online students.

All measureable tests and grades were sent to Bruce, but he rarely commented on any of it since Robin's grades remained high.

There had been one failing grade for a missed assignment early in the days of life at Teen Tower, and Batman had paid a visit. The other Titans had been impressed that the Dark Knight would show up to their place, but Batman had said, "I'm here to speak to Robin about his grades," and the teens had quickly made excuses to go somewhere else.

"Geez, I'm sorry," Robin had stood sheepishly. "I forgot about that paper. It won't happen – ow, Batman!"

Batman had kept a tight pinch on his ear as he took Robin to his room to have a private conversation. And after that, Robin had never missed another assignment.

However, homework in Teen Tower after a long patrol had been a dream compared to the difficulty of translating under Slade's scrutiny with so much raw power pounding through his body.

Lunch finally came, but it was Chinese food that he had to eat with thin chopsticks and he broke two pairs before he was finally allowed to eat with a fork. Slade berated him for bad manners, for being so sulky, for not applying himself fully to the task at hand.

After lunch, the schoolwork continued into the afternoon.

Robin had to find books with thin pages and write with a delicate pen, and everything in the library was so darn frail that it broke if you looked too hard at it, and Slade wouldn't let anything go.

"Have you always been this clumsy?" he scoffed as Robin tore the copy sheet for the fifth time. "I thought you were an acrobat. All those stories about Robin's grace and agility. You're the proverbial bull in the china shop."

"And you're the proverbial pain in my ass," Robin huffed as he went to get another piece of paper.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, sir. Can't I have a break soon to go running or boxing or maybe lift a car?"

"Lessons," Slade rapped on the table sternly. "I want to see some demonstration of knowledge from you. No more nonsense."

"Don't you have some villainous plan that you need to enact?" Robin took up the pen again, hoping he didn't crush it between his fingers and splatter ink all over the table. "Evil deeds that can't wait?"

"That's later tonight."

"What?"

"Oh, my plans don't stop just because you are here. No, my dear boy, tonight I have a grand party planned and you are going to be the star guest there. My plans stretch further and run deeper than you can ever – Robin!"

Robin blinked at the broken pen in his hand and all the bits of black ink strewn all over the table.

"That's it – you've tried my patience for the last time," Slade stood up.

Escape plans be screwed. Actions would happen now.

Robin stood up and kicked back his chair. He brought his hands down on the table, and his two fists smashed through the wood.

Slade stepped back uncertainly.

"All right, Slade," Robin grabbed a slab of wood and held it like a bat, "let's see how well _you_ take a beating. And I think we both know you deserve this, yes?"


End file.
